‘I’m not going anywhere, Alan.’ Arlo’s face uncreased fractionally as he shook hands with the uniformed station attendant. ‘I’m just dropping Ms Fox off. Okay if I see her onto the train?’
‘That’s really not—’ she began.
But Arlo was already walking swiftly along the platform, her now-battered suitcase clamped under his arm. Trailing behind, she followed him into a carriage, heart thumping as she watched him push her case into the overhead luggage rack.
‘Okay, then.’ His eyes were as expressionless as his voice. ‘Have a good trip.’
Her heart lurched. Was that it?
But before she even had a chance to open her mouth he turned and walked away, the hem of his coat curling around his legs like the tail of a panther.
Her head was suddenly pounding so hard that it hurt to stand, and for one horrible moment she thought she might faint. Forcing her feet to move, she sat down in the nearest seat even as somewhere inside her head she heard her own voice telling Arlo that she’d never passed out in her life.
Pressing her head against the window, she closed her eyes. Last night had been an admission of something beyond thought—the raw and inescapable hunger that seemed to have engulfed them both since that moment on the causeway.
It had been a moment of passion. A moment, not even a night. Only something had happened. Something had passed between them...
The carriage doors opened.
‘I think she’s got a cheek, talking to you like that.’ The woman’s voice floated over her head. ‘You should tell Mary. She’d give her what for—’
‘I don’t want to cause any trouble...’ A second woman, quieter, anxious sounding.
‘Frankie.’
The deep voice made her eyes snap open and, turning her head, she froze.
Arlo was standing beside her, his broad, muscular body effortlessly filling the carriage, his face austere and irregular beneath the harsh overhead lights.
She stared up at him wordlessly, her skin prickling with shock. He looked almost as stunned as she did, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing.
‘Is this how you want to leave things?’ he asked.
There was short, quivering silence as she stared at him wordlessly, stunned by the directness of his question.
‘No.’ Breathing out shakily, she shook her head. ‘No, it’s not.’
Something flared in his dark eyes and then he was reaching up and pulling down her suitcase. ‘Then come with me.’
* * *
This was not something he did, Arlo thought as he reversed out of the parking space and accelerated away from the car park. He did not chase after women and drag them off trains. It was a mistake on so many levels. He knew that logically and unequivocally—and yet here he was doing it.
It had taken two minutes.
Two minutes of his legs carrying his numb body forward before he had turned and headed back to the station past an open-mouthed Alan. And with each step he’d told himself that he could stop, turn around, go back to the car at any point.
But as soon as he stepped into the carriage and seen her sitting there that had changed. He’d spoken before he’d caught up with himself, the question fully formed on his lips, and by the time he’d considered the bigger picture they were walking back, past Alan.
The horse had well and truly bolted.
Or rather the train had left the station.
Maybe Frankie hadn’t considered the consequences until now either. It would certainly explain her silence, he thought, staring fixedly out through the windscreen.
He was still staring fixedly ahead as they strode back into the Hall, past an open-mouthed Constance and upstairs.
The enormity, the incredible stupidity of what he was doing, hit him like a wrecking ball as he walked into Frankie’s bedroom. At the station he had simply wanted to stop her leaving. That had been the endpoint. Now, though, he saw it was just the beginning.
Only of what?
Last night he had behaved recklessly, driven by a compulsion he hadn’t understood. But in some part of what could loosely be called his brain it had made sense. He had wanted Frankie, wanted to satisfy the hunger that had been eating at him ever since he’d found her in his bed.
If she hadn’t wanted him he would have walked away, of course. Only she had wanted him. She had turned to flame beneath his fingers and now his body was hard and aching for more.
He didn’t know why. All he knew was that they weren’t finished. And that it was the pursuit of their unfinished connection that had brought them here.
‘There’s another train in four hours.’ Still holding her suitcase, he swung round to face her. ‘If you’ve changed your mind about coming back.’
‘I haven’t,’ she said quietly.
There was a short, stiff pause and Arlo felt his chest tighten. This was exactly the kind of conversation he hated. Taut, emotional, unpredictable... But, if anything, Frankie seemed even more uncomfortable with it than he did, so that he was more concerned with putting her at ease.
‘It felt wrong...you leaving like that.’
Her eyes found his. ‘I felt the same. It’s just that nothing like this...’ she swallowed ‘...like us, has ever happened to me before.’
His heartbeat was drumming inside his head. Nothing like this...like her...he thought silently, had happened to him either.
Looking down at her, he felt his shoulders tense. He had nothing to offer her in the long term. Even the idea of permanence induced in him a kind of vertigo, and he needed her to know that.
His eyes found hers. ‘I don’t do relationships, but I think we have something special. Something I’d like to explore.’
He held his breath. No polar region had ever excited him as much as the idea of exploring every inch of Frankie.
‘So when do we start?’ she asked.
She hadn’t moved, but the room suddenly felt smaller. She seemed closer, and she was breathing as unevenly as he was.
Arlo stared at her in silence, her words turning his groin painfully hard. This was why he’d gone after her: sex. Only it was more than sex. When he looked at Frankie there was fire, heat and hunger on a level he couldn’t remember feeling before—not even for Harriet.
His throat felt as if it was clogged with his hot, wet breath, and he was holding his body so tautly it felt as if it might snap.
A minute went by, then another, and then they both moved at the same time—his hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer as she leaned forward, her fingers sliding over his shoulders.
As her lips parted against his he forgot to breathe. Her mouth was hot, and the taste of her was making his head swim. Shifting closer, he deepened the kiss, her soft moan instantly taking him to the point where kissing was not enough.
She clearly thought the same.
He could feel her fingers tugging clumsily at the sleeves of his coat, and without breaking the kiss he unzipped the front of her jacket, pushing it off her shoulders and down her arms.
Now her hands were on his chest, pulling at his jumper.
‘Easy, Frankie.’ He caught her arms, his eyes finding hers. ‘We have time. We have plenty of time.’
‘Okay...’ Her fingers bit into his arm and she began pulling him towards the bed. ‘But let’s just get undressed...’
Her words were like petrol thrown on a bonfire.
Turning, he pushed the door shut and began to yank his jumper over his head. His T-shirt followed hers onto the floor, and then they both kicked off their boots and socks.
Now they were both just wearing jeans.
Dragging his eyes from the swell of her breasts, he drew her closer, his lips finding hers, and then he kissed her—kissed her until she moaned, and he felt her body start to soften.
Head spinning, he nudged her back
wards. As they toppled onto the bed he pulled her on top, so that she was straddling him. Her hands were everywhere, sliding over the skin of his back and shoulders and down his arms, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was real.
He understood that feeling. He couldn’t believe she was real...that he was free to kiss and touch her...
Capturing her face in his hands, he teased her top lip with his tongue. He wanted more. He needed more. He needed all of her. Everything.
Reaching up, he touched her small breasts, cupping them in his hands, grazing his thumbs over the nipples, and then he sucked one tautened tip into his mouth, feeling it swell against his tongue.
Her head fell back and his body tensed as she began to squirm restlessly against him, against where he was growing harder by the minute. He sat up and, using the muscles of his thighs, tipped her forward onto the heavy press of his erection.
* * *
Frankie breathed out shakily.
He was very hard and very big.
Heart thudding, she reached up to touch his face, her fingers moving lightly against his beard-roughened jaw.
‘I didn’t say it last night, but you don’t disappoint either,’ she said softly.
Abruptly he leaned forward and, wrapping his hand in her hair, lifted her face to his and kissed her—a hard, hungry, open-mouthed, searing kiss that stole the breath from her lungs so suddenly that her head was spinning and she was shaking...
A moan that seemed to come from the hot, molten core of her body rose up in her throat and she rocked against him, her fingers sliding through his hair.
He grunted, and in one motion grabbed her arms and rolled her onto the bed, unbuttoning her jeans and tugging them down her legs, taking her panties with them.
For a moment he just stood at the end of the bed, watching her, face taut, jaw clenched tight, muscles bunched, eyes dark with an undisguised hunger that sent flickers of excitement scampering over her skin.
And then he was pulling off his jeans and boxer shorts.
It was the first time she’d seen him completely naked.
Her mouth felt as if it had been sandblasted. He definitely didn’t disappoint, she thought, sucking in a sharp breath.
Then suddenly he was on the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms.
Breathing shakily, she ran her hands over the hard, defined muscles of his chest, her fluttering fingers tracing the line of dark hair down his stomach.
A shiver of need ran through her as she took him in her hand.
Then leaning into him, she drew up her leg, to meet the blunt tip of his erection. He jerked against her, a raw sound breaking from his lips, and, reaching past her, shook his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
Pulse quivering, she watched him unwrap the condom and slide it onto his hard length, and then his dark eyes locked with hers as he pushed gently against her.
‘Is that okay?’
‘Yes.’ She breathed out slowly, opening her legs wider, then wider still. ‘Yes, like that. Yes,’ she said again, curling her hands around his shoulders.
He was pushing up inside her, his hand lifting her bottom so that there was nothing between them but heat and sweat, his thumb stroking her clitoris as she moved. His dark eyes locked with hers and she cried out, her body tensing in release, and then he was thrusting hard into her, pulling her close and burying his face against her throat.
For a moment he lay on top of her, breathing shakily, and then, lifting himself from her body, he rolled off her and got to his feet.
His eyes scudded down her body then back up to her face. ‘I’ll be right back.’
She stared after him, savouring the broad expanse of his back and the muscular curve of his shoulders. He was so unashamedly male, and she felt so unashamedly satisfied.
She shivered. Without the warmth of his body, she felt cold. Shifting backwards up the bed, she wriggled under the covers.
Moments later he slid in beside her, pulling her against him.
She let her hand rest lightly across his stomach, feeling calmer than she had for weeks...maybe months. Coming back had felt like a risk, but maybe this was what she’d needed all along. Intimacy. Physical contact.
She had read in a magazine that hugging someone produced feel-good hormones, and sex was the most intense kind of hugging. That must be why she felt so good.
Only nothing this good ever lasted.
‘Don’t overthink it.’
Startled, Frankie looked up. Arlo was staring down at her, his grey eyes steady and unblinking.
‘What just happened—don’t overthink it,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s not that complicated.’
Isn’t it?
She stared at him, a beat of panic pulsing over her skin. Maybe not for him. He could just lie back and enjoy the aftermath of release. But feeling calm and happy carried a different risk for her.
‘I’m not overthinking,’ she lied.
She let her hair fall forward to hide her face. It wasn’t a complete lie, more a half-truth. But she wasn’t ready to tell him the whole truth.
‘Frankie, look at me.’
His voice was impossible to ignore. Lifting her head, she met his gaze.
‘Look, I haven’t had a day off in a long time and you need a break,’ he said. ‘We’re just going to spend it together.’
Her heart missed a beat.
Could she? Should she?
But she’d already answered both those questions by coming back. And Arlo wasn’t offering something solid or permanent—something that could be lost or broken. It wasn’t a contract of commitment. What they had, what they both wanted, was purely physical. So why not let it run its course?
‘I’d like that.’
‘I’d like that too,’ he said, his dark eyes locking with hers.
She felt her body start to melt. It was lucky, she thought, that she didn’t have feelings for Arlo. To love a man who made you feel this way would be terrifying.
But then his head dipped, and he pulled her against him, and she stopped thinking and surrendered to a wave of want and need and heat...
* * *
Frankie had been slightly worried about facing Constance again, but as it turned out Frankie was not the only person who had returned to the island. Throughout the day more and more staff kept arriving.
Arlo seemed amused by her astonishment. ‘What did you think? That Constance did everything on her own?’
She had. But now she thought about it, it seemed ridiculously obvious that that would be impossible. The house was vast, and then there were the gardens, and the island itself...
‘There are twelve people working here full-time.’
‘What? Even when you’re not here?’
He nodded. ‘Most of the staff have been here for at least a decade. They’re like family.’
Frankie smiled, but inside she felt that familiar ache of loss and envy at the word family. Only she had no right to envy the very thing she had helped destroy, she thought, as Arlo introduced her to Constance’s team of indoor staff.
‘You can meet everyone else later,’ he said as they left the kitchen. ‘This way.’
He touched her lightly on the back and she felt a flicker of heat low in her belly. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Nero needs a run. I thought we could go down to the beach.’ His dark gaze rested on her face. ‘Work up an appetite.’
It was glorious outside.
The sky was an almost Mediterranean blue, and the tide was out, and to her amazement the beach was sandy. Arlo rolled his eyes as she pulled off her boots and socks, but then he did the same.
‘Oh, it’s freezing!’ She gasped as the sea swirled over her bare feet. But only for a moment. Then it was still cold, but in a good way. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, gazing down the beach. ‘It actually
makes my heart beat faster.’
Arlo picked up a stick and hurled it a ridiculous distance down the beach. ‘Are you sure that isn’t me?’
Reaching down herself, she flicked some cold water at him and then started to run. He caught her easily, pulling her against him so that she felt suddenly breathless with his nearness.
‘You are going to pay for that, Ms Fox.’
‘Big talk, Mr Milburn.’
He laughed then—a genuine laugh that made her go weak in the middle.
‘That feels like a challenge,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘Is that your way of saying you want a billiards rematch? Because we can play for money this time, if you want.’
‘Only if you wear those shoes.’ He smiled slowly. ‘Just those shoes.’
The slow burn of his gaze reached inside her, pressing down against her pelvis. ‘I’m game if you are.’
Grimacing, he shook his head. ‘You know, your brother has a lot to answer for. I think at some point I’m going to have a few words with him about unleashing you with a cue on an unsuspecting male population.’
Feeling cold on the inside, she stared past him at the sea.
Answer him. Say something...anything, she told herself.
But her mouth wouldn’t move.
After a short, gritty pause, he said slowly, ‘It’s not a big thing, Frankie. I’m not angling to meet your family.’
She felt her chest pull tight with anger and panic. How dare he throw that at her? This was his fault. If he’d warned her that he was going to start talking about her family she would have prepared herself.
‘Not everything is about you, Arlo—’ she snapped.
Adrenaline was spiking inside her and her hands were shaking. She could feel it building beneath her skin. The misery. The guilt. The memories she fought so hard to keep at bay. Her heart twisted and she pressed her knuckles against the ache.
‘Frankie...’
His voice was gentle—too gentle. It was melting her anger, melting the barriers she had built, so that the memories were filling her head and the truth was spilling from her lips.
Beauty in the Billionaire's Bed Page 9